


fracas

by leedeeloo



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 11:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13500530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leedeeloo/pseuds/leedeeloo
Summary: Hey you know those little plastic caps you put on a cat's claws so they don't scratch the shit out of everything? Yeah.





	fracas

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to cam/HamB0ne for giving me this idea.

It was a long running joke that, man, they were _never_ getting that deposit back. Especially once they actually owned the place. But, as Sung made his way across the house, socked feet sliding on the hardwood, super soft microfiber catching in the grooves made by Meouch’s claws, he thought about it. Joking at first, and then a little more seriously.

A little more seriously as he saw the same grooves on the walls, the doors, concentrated at Meouch’s usual spot at the dinner table. All the way up the stairs, the wall by the handrail (that was miraculously untouched), he didn’t even peer into the bathroom because he didn’t want to see what kind of face he was making. He always had a frightful expression on his face when he thought of things like _resale value_ and _renovation costs_.

With a sudden project for the day created in his mind, he headed back downstairs with a vigor. A good cup of coffee, and he’d be on his way.

* * *

 

Meouch was having a lovely day. He woke up in the middle of the afternoon to find that Sung had left a note on the fridge simply saying he was out running errands and not to worry about saving him any dinner. He enjoyed this unexpected lack of supervision; he spent a few hours on the couch playing video games in his boxers without Sung quizzing him on his strategy. He treated himself to a scorching hot shower, without it all being drained as Sung ran the washing machine at the exact same time.

He was enjoying a pre-dinner beer as he thought about what to do for said meal; he was in a good enough mood to cook something, to look up an interesting recipe and double the ingredients and have some damn good leftovers tomorrow (or realistically, later that night).

Leaning on the breakfast bar, phone in hand as he idly searched for something to make, his ears twitched in the direction of the opening door. He’d heard the car pull up and engine cut off barely two minutes before and thought nothing of it; Sung was probably still in a frenetic passion over whatever he’d been doing all day.

Suffice to say, it was completely unexpected when Sung suddenly pounced on him, knocking him to the ground, phone scattering across the floor.

“The fuck-!” Meouch spat out. He tried to push Sung off, who seemed intent on sitting on top of him, grabbing Meouch’s wrists. Sung was a lot of strength densely packed, so he eventually got his way; turned around and facing Meouch’s legs, holding both his hands under one of his arms in what could've been a headlock.

“Dude,” Meouch said once Sung seemed to have stopped, “not funny. Get off.”

“Not yet,” Sung replied, reaching into a canvas shopping bag he’d been carrying. “I just gotta do something real quick, and then I’ll let you go.”

For a good long second, Meouch considered it. A sort of morbid curiosity, how-bad-can-it-be. He didn’t see what Sung pulled out of the bag, he was deliberately concealing it. Sung squeezed his hand, the thick pads, forcing the claws out.

“Hey.” Meouch started to move his legs, bending them, getting ready to kick Sung off if he needed to. He didn’t like people messing with his claws, it made chills run up his spine, felt weird, other people were too rough, hurt him when they tried. He felt something touch his exposed claw, and he tried to jerk his arm away, growling, making Sung tighten his grip.

“Easy now,” Sung murmured, voice shaky. He kept pressing something onto Meouch’s claw. “I’ll be done in a minute, I promise.”

The same feeling on another claw, which made Meouch jerk his shoulders up. Sung was rushing now, there was that weird gross feeling again, and that was when Meouch decided he was done playing nice.

With one big heave, he rolled over, throwing Sung sideways onto the floor, and he finally let go of Meouch’s hands as he tumbled away, utterly perplexed. Meouch hastily stood up, before Sung could get his wits about him, and looked at his hand.

The first three claws of his left hand had been covered with gaudy plastic tips, all different colours. It didn’t hurt to draw them back into his digits, but he could feel a difference. Little coloured tips peeked out, rather than the razor sharp ones.

“What the _fuck_ dude?” Meouch asked, staring at Sung as he sat up.

“You leave claw marks everywhere man. Absolutely all over the place.” Sung waved his arm, gesturing around the living room. “Do you know how much it’s gonna cost to get that fixed? I figured I’d just go to the root of the problem.”

“Oh my god,” Meouch muttered, offering his hand to Sung and pulling him back to his feet. “You’re a dumbass.” Sung didn’t say anything, just made an inscrutable face up at Meouch.

It was kinda funny.

Meouch held his hand between them, offering it again but in a different way. “Get this shit off me, and after I make some dinner I’ll clip ‘em. Since it bothers you so much.”

Sung gave him a wry grin and returned a handshake that wasn’t offered.


End file.
